


I'm Afraid

by orphan_account



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Light Angst, Smoking, Teenage Drama, Toxic Friendships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nick began to hold back and ignore feelings of romance after what happened in Junior year-- he becomes a player of sorts because of this. It doesn't fair well with you who had been crushing on him since childhood.
Relationships: Sapnap/Reader, sapnap/you
Comments: 1
Kudos: 87





	I'm Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> i spent too long on this.
> 
> oh yea, for ari, ily
> 
> tw: smoking, mentions of underage drinking, toxic friendships

Strings of various curses echoed from the weighty headphones that rest atop his head. Eyes traced the luminous outline of Nick, your childhood friend of 11 years, who sat melting into his chair staring into the flashing screen. He was a popular entertainer now, along with being a college student. You, on the other hand, remained to finish your final years in high school. 

Nick had turned into a heartthrob of sorts-- specifically ‘in the bed’ type of sort. Hookups a-plenty he had glossed over whilst on the phone; not once have you heard of anything that went further than a hookup. Nonetheless, you still found your stupid childhood crush surfacing every time his eyes washed over to you.

Your first meeting was something Nick always resurfaced (much to your annoyance). The story began when your family had just moved into the neighborhood and Nick’s family (your neighbors), came over to introduce themselves. The embarrassing part (for you) was when you had accidentally ran into him, toppling both of you over, due to your fear of bees. Awkward as it was, he found enjoyment in your pitiful figure and that was a trait that stayed consistent as the years flipped off the calendar. 

“You’re absolute dog water, George!” His fist had slammed into the desk, shaking the components that sat aimlessly. 

Managing to barely hold back a snicker, you open your phone to scroll aimlessly on Twitter to ignore Nick failing miserably at Minecraft, or perhaps to let the butterflies in your stomach settle before your cheeks began to flush a ruddy color. Why had you even bothered to come over when he’s clearly busy? To put it simply, he invited you over to “hang out” (if hanging out meant being sprawled across his bed while being ignored). 

Minutes seemed to have dragged itself to hours that soon multiplied. The bright luminous glow of the day watered down into a dripping dark blue with white specks sprinkled across the canvas. It was a Thursday evening; you have school tomorrow. Both of your parents’ wouldn’t be home by the 11th hour of the night-- they trusted you both to look out for each other like you did as children. The stream continued further and further into the day; your body went lax against the soft plush of his bed, eyelids giving out.

Nick shifts his chair to face his bed; your body curled in his bedsheets, chest rising and falling at a rhythmic pace, soft snores escaping the tired body. His heart squirmed in his chest seeing you peacefully sleeping-- wishing he could’ve talked to you more today. Guilt washed over his body as the guys calling for him echoed through his headset. “Hey guys, I think that’s enough for me today.” 

Logging out and bidding his adieus to Quackity (Alex), George, Karl, and Dream (Clay), Nick tiptoed into the bathroom to prepare for bed. He ushered your body to the wall, allowing space for his body to slip into. He was tired after all, and why would he sleep on the floor in his own house? You guys were close enough, right?

Nick laid wide-awake the entire evening. This was most likely the result of his  **incidental** nervousness eating away at him. He couldn’t understand  **why** his heart pulsed at a rapid pace; you’ve done this before as children. What’s the difference now? To be specific, why has this been going on for years? It seemed to have normalized since 16, but he still didn’t understand why it happened. The bed was large enough for you both to sleep soundly without any contact, but he could feel the warmth radiating from your resting body. Maybe that’s why his face flushed a warm red. 

He could never like you anyway. You both were so different and only knew each other as friends from childhood. He grew up with you; there was no way this bond could be any more serious. He had his other “bitches” to mess around with-- he’s not bound to you at all. 

**At all.**

And so the thoughts roam and scrambled across his mind as he twists and turns under the covers until the quiet gloom of the morning was shattered by your phone calling for you to get up. Stirring around the bed, you both rose. 

“Nick, drive me to school in” --eyes glancing at the time glowing on her phone-- “an hour.” 

“Doesn’t school start at 7:55? It’s only six, come on!” 

“You don’t have to get up right now. I have to though; I’m gonna fucking shower.” The weight of the bed shifted as you got up and stumbled to his bathroom-- having stayed overnight countless times made this your second home. 

The warm water that hit your fatigued body hugged you in its hands as you run the water between your hair. Water falling like beads of rain to shape the outline of your body; muscles drooping as it yearns for the heated water which contrasted the frigid fog of the morning. Steam echoed the room as you finished off your shower, wrapping a plush towel around your piping body. Realizing you had not brought clothes yesterday, you exit the bathroom and stumbled back into Nick’s bedroom where he lay, scrolling aimlessly through Twitter. 

“Nick where do you keep your hoodies and sweatpants again?” Managing to barely hold the towel close enough to keep warmth. Excess water drips from your drenched hair onto the curves carved lovingly into your body. 

Nick turned around to eye your body shamelessly before turning back to his phone, “Bottom drawer and left-side closet,” he could hear that familiarized rapid heartbeat. 

“‘Kay, thanks! Get up and go brush your teeth too asshat. We leave in 20 minutes.”

Hearing a groan and a creek of the bed was a good enough response for you. Shuffling to his closet, you pick out a random black hoodie and gray sweatpants from his disorganized, but familiar, closet. The drawstrings of his sweatpants wrapped as tight as they could around your waist, barely holding them up. Slipping the hoodie over your torso (bra-less because it’s a Friday and you really couldn’t bother) and pulling socks over your feet, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Distaste clouded your vision. Drying your hair with the blowdryer you made Nick buy before pulling on a mask and gathering your backpack from his room to run into the driveway where he sat in his roaring car.  _ Shit, he looks good with disheveled hair _ .

“I’m gonna go to another girl’s place tonight. Maybe get high and fuck. Wouldn’t recommend you come over,” Nick warns as you step into the passengers’ seat.

_ Ouch, another girl _ . _ Play it off, _ “You get pussy but still no girlfriend. Lame.” 

“I don’t do relationships anymore. No feelings, no strings attached,” he stated as a matter-of-factly before swinging his arm behind the cushion of your seat to turn around and back out of the driveway, body heat radiating off his arm. 

It’s true, Nick doesn’t ‘do’ relationships after what happened in his junior year. He seemed to have numbed after the incident. Numb is an overstatement; perhaps the word  **apathetic** would fit? To put plainly, he refuses to catch romantic interest for another girl. Strictly hookups only and that was that. 

The rest of the car ride was filled with eerie silence as you looked out the window. Nick’s right hand lay on your knee, left hand on the wheel: a normal occurrence. Houston seemed more melancholy this morning. The car passed the familiar streets and pulling up into the school made your stomach drop-- you wished not to leave the position the two of you were in, but alas he pulled into a parking spot. Letting go of your knee, he exits the car to wrap around and hold the door open for you. 

The gray of the sky moaned and sobbed, aching to release the buildup of past months-- it matched your feelings pretty well. You look up to meet your friend, Miranda, running towards you and Nick. 

Miranda, being your only friend at school now, had a huge, obvious, crush on Nick, despite knowing about your affection for him since the age of five. Today, she sported a pleated white skirt with a blue sweater accompanied by white collars sticking out. Bleached blonde hair straightened behind matching blue clips and Air Force 1’s stomping across the parking lot floor. What a contrast; Nick would love that.

“Hi, Nick!” Miranda cooed, eyelashes fluttering. 

“Hey, Miranda. Anyways, Y/N, I’ll pick you up after my” --he glances at Miranda-- “appointment. You can decide between Chipotle or Olive Garden. It’s on me.” 

A wary nod was enough for him to get back into his car and drive off, leaving you to walk with Miranda to first period. Your inner peace once again throttled by Miranda’s comments on the trip to English.

“Sorry, Y/N, but he seemed so interested in me! Like, the way he glanced at me? He likes what he sees. I mean-- my outfit today is cute, but he looked shamelessly! I feel so sorry for you though. I know I shouldn’t, but is it really my fault? Feelings aren’t something we control. Besides, my fam--” was all you picked up before muffling her out.   
  


_ She was right though; Nick prefers the beauty queens over someone whos wearing his sweatpants to school. Whatever though, right? Feelings are feelings and they can’t be helped. _

The school day plagued itself with gushy rambles about Nick from Miranda that contrasted the stupid lectures from teachers. It made your head spin and your stomach drop. The main reason for this sickly feeling was  **jealousy--** Miranda seemed to be the superior choice. It’d make sense for Nick to crave a girl like her,  _ so why are you so jealous _ ? Hand gripping your phone, you heedlessly called for Nick.

“Woah, what’s up? Aren’t you in school?” He picked up instantaneously. 

“Nick, come pick me up. I’m not doing too well,” realizing who you called. 

“You wanna go home or stay with my parents?”

_ Oh right, he has that appointment later.  _ “You can just drive me home.”

“Alright. See ya’ in 20.”

The phone call ended, but your arm still held the phone up to your ear. The world seemed to come to a stop. The room felt empty and quiet against the loud clashes of the voice that resided within your head and body. Everything seemed to be yelling-- you were tired of it. 

“Hey, Y/N, you good?”

Ah, Miranda had gotten back from the bathroom. Looking down at your slumped body against the table, you noticed a fresh new layer of lip gloss and mascara painted her well-sculpted face. Right, you were always going to be under her when it comes to beauty. Reaching an arm out to use her outstretched hand for support, you got up.

“Nick’s picking me up in 20. Not feeling good.” 

“Oh. Tell Nick I said ‘hi.’” 

It was either the fact that she disregarded your distress, or that she immediately perked at the sound of his name that sent a pang in your chest. However, it could be both. Either way, your anger seemed to be directed at yourself.  _ Why were you being so bitchy today? Can’t you just suck it up like the rest of the days?  _

The cries continued to voice their humiliating opinions as lunch continued-- the cries mixed with Miranda’s nonstop lack of awareness for others worsened your headache. The topic at hand revolved around her, despite your futile and sheepish attempts to change the conversation.  _ It doesn’t matter. Miranda’s stuck with me through Freshman year till now. She’s the only other one left. You’re indebted to her.  _

Was indebted the right word? Maybe it was, but the other way around. You see, back in freshman year, Miranda had been abandoned by her original friend group: the most beloved group of girls. The reason? Miranda had hooked up with the main girl’s boyfriend. Having no one to be with, you and Nick took her in out of pity; she stuck with you guys since. Sometimes you sit and regret that choice because most of your insecurities stem from Miranda’s ignorance, but it couldn’t be helped. 

The scrambling thoughts were cut short as your name rang from the speakers, summoning you to the office. 

“Hello? You awake? Can you please go up so I can follow you?” Voice laced with annoyance, Miranda sneers.

A sigh slipped past your lips as you grabbed your bag from the table and adjusted yourself to the best of your abilities (there was only so much you could do with sweatpants and a hoodie). You didn’t even understand why you tried since your mind was a jumble of doubt. Miranda seemed more excited for you to go home as she continued strutting two feet in front of you and even opening the door to the front office-- shutting it in your face. 

Opening the heavy door and entering the cooled office that wafted the smell of coffee and peppermint, you see Nick who is ignoring a clearly chatty Miranda. Jealousy struck again as you advanced towards them.

“You taking both of them?” The administrator types lazily, nails clicking against the keyboard taps.

“Nah, only one of them,” Nick leans on the desk.

“Name?”

The information exchange was tuned out as you shifted awkwardly behind Nick’s figure. They had to call your parents to make sure they allowed Nick to take you home, which they did. The minutes it took for the paperwork to be completed felt like hours. The clicking of keyboards replayed in your mind, dizzying you. It was only when Nick tapped your shoulder that brought you back to reality. His eyes filled themselves with worry as he stared down at your tranced state. 

“You okay?”

Honestly, you weren’t even sure whether or not you had the energy to drag your feet, which felt more like bricks, back to his car. Unbeknownst to you, Nick had sensed this.

“Come on,” he turned around to insinuate a piggyback ride.

Pale face now washing a sunset on your cheeks, you hopped on the familiar back that had brought you home every evening during childhood. The torridity of his body sent your limp body ablaze-- your warmed face hooked itself on his shoulder. You couldn’t care to look back at Miranda, though guilt did seem to bubble in your stomach.

The woes of the morning had replaced themselves with a watercolor of clear blues and gentle white clouds that tasted of pure bliss. Nick smelled of light citrus alluding to a recent shower-- stuffing your face in his shoulder, he carried you into the passenger seat of his car. Your inner peace now restored, began to lull your body as you melt into the familiar leather seats.

“Sorry for making you pick me up out of the blue.” 

“I’on mind. Besides, you’ve picked me up a thousand times already.”

You flinched. Thousand seems like an  **understatement** , but you both agreed to move past that incident. The ride home relaxed you as the familiar buildings you grew up with passed by in a blur. It seemed too peaceful-- nothing in your life was peaceful. Your mind was always buzzing ever since childhood and seemed to worsen with time and situations. As if he sensed the droning reverberating within your head, Nick’s fingers started to etch doodles and linings of many on the soft flesh of your thigh. 

As the car began to arrive in the familiar driveway, serenity seeps to soon replace with throat-crushing hesitance. The mutual silence that laced the gaps was an indication that you both knew where he was off to. Frigid silence collapsed with the ding that rang from your phone-- reaching for it, thanking whatever god was out there for saving you from an awkward situation, the message shattered what’s left of your stability. 

“ _ Can u confess  _ **_my_ ** _ love for Nick? Ty! Love u<3, _ ” Miranda’s contact seemed to blurred. 

The entire screen seemed to have blurred; your was heart heavy, eyes prickling. You could’ve chosen to be an awful person, but your moral compass said otherwise. Turning your body to face Nick, who seemed to be inputting directions in Google Maps.

“Hey, Nick?”

He hums in response, not bothering to look up at you.

“So,” pausing, not knowing how to declare someone else’s love for the guy who you’ve liked since childhood. “Miranda really likes you. Not in the ‘I-wanna-just-hookup’ way, but the ‘I-see-a-future-with-this-guy’ way,”  _ honestly, this is how you felt with Nick, but it could never happen.  _

Nick looks up, eyes boring into yours, eyebrows furrow together. He looks down with a mix of disgust and confusion. 

“You’re kidding, right? I know she likes me-- couldn’t have been any less obvious. The part that gets me is that she’s making  **you** confess! Has she not realized I don’t ‘do’ relationships? Maybe I’m down for a fuck.” 

There he goes again. Not “doing” relationships and dismissing yet another girl’s futile attempts at winning him over. It bothered you a lot-- the incident in junior year didn’t  **just** affect him. You were tired of hearing how traumatized he was, but Nick had never taken the time to consider how you felt. Your patience finally snapped for the first time in two years. 

“You know, Nick, just because you don’t ‘do’ relationships anymore, doesn’t mean you can treat girls like fuckdolls. You’ve been disregarding so many people’s feelings and have been a huge dick just because of your ex. I understand you’re hurt, but you can’t give that pain to every girl who just wanted a chance. Have you ever thought about me? How I feel?” Prickling tears now seemed to spill from your eyes as your bottled anger detonated. 

Nick’s eyebrows knitted further together; his eyes now piercing yours, “What the fuck are you going on about? I’m hurt and I don’t think I’m hurting anyone by refusing a relationship! They know I’m only there for a hookup so what’s the issue? Plus, what the fuck do you mean ‘think about you,’ I care about you and I thought that was obvious enough by me picking you up and  **forcing** myself to hang out with you!”

_ Forcing himself to hang out with you. _

“Is that how you see it?” Your voice collapsing. 

The heated face that paralleled that of the incident made you flinch as he talked, “Yeah, that’s how I fucking see it.”

“You have no fucking idea then,” stepping out of the car, you walk into your home-- not bothering to look back at Nick once.

Sitting in his own shame and guilt, Nick slams his fist against the edge of the wheel. Starting the car again, he backed up and drove away to his appointment, not wanting to deal with his issues. The car going at a faster pace than normal, window down as his arm hung out lazily. As long as he gets his smoke and some fun, that’s all that matters. 

The familiar room that grew up with you (and Nick) seemed to be colorless. The lights now absent as your body lay limp on the cold bed-- betrayal floated around the melancholic air. Your pillows were wet with salty tears and phone flashing with messages from Miranda. You couldn’t be bothered-- Nick couldn’t be bothered. It doesn’t matter anymore, right? The feeling of loneliness lulled you into a slumber-- one of the only times you could ever get peace from the buzz. 

  
  
  
  


The ebony that blanketed the room was disturbed by the flashing screen of your phone-- waking you. Nick’s contact glowed as the phone buzzed. Groggily sitting up, you unknowingly picked up the phone. 

“Hey. Can you come pick me up?” His voice cracked. It was unlike him.

“What the hell, Nick? It’s” --you glanced over at the clock sitting on your bedside table-- “fucking three in the morning!” 

“Please? The cops came, and I ran for it. Didn’t even get to do the fun part.”

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. He still talks about that like it’s normal. Silence filled the seconds that added themselves on the call timer-- you were debating whether or not to go rescue him again. 

“My dad will pick you up. Text him the address,” stillness once again crept as the call ended. 

Self-doubt and regret began to fill your body once again. The past finds itself making a parallel to the present. Dragging your shivering body downstairs, you notified your father (who was luckily still awake watching a show) about Nick’s situation.

  
  
  
  


Luminous headlights carved a path of blaze against the darkened playground. Nick, hair disheveled and eyes bloodshot, slouched on the public swing set. The bright park contrasted itself at witching hour-- silence draped itself over the ghostly builds of the playground. Stepping out of his car, your father strides over to relax on the open swing next to Nick. 

“Nick.”

“I know sir. I’m sorry.”

“Explain yourself again.”

“I don’t know sir.” 

Silence filled the space between the two. The creaking of the swings gently rocking was the most comfort they had.

“I’m still messed up from my junior year,” heavy breaths morphed into slow chokes. “I feel like I can’t gather any romantic feelings for any girl anymore, y’know? It’s just a mindless blank, and the farthest I can go is wanting to bang them. I’m scared? Yeah, I’m afraid of falling in love again because what if the next girl gets me high off my balls again and then constantly reminds me I’m shit if I refuse to get staggering-drunk with her? Y’know, the day I blocked Y/N and then called her at four in the morning, I wasn’t expecting her to drag you out of bed to save me-- let alone doing the same thing so many times following. Every time I’d see her frantic face come close to mine while her shaky hands trembled, barely holding my sweaty face, I start to think about who I am and what the fuck I was doing. After the whole relationship, I swore off romance and be selfish because I deserve that reward. Better yet, I swore to not worry your daughter much more, but here I am. This time, she didn’t even bother to show up because I was a huge dick to her.”

Her father knew; of course, he knew what happened in the car this afternoon. His daughter had muttered enough about it while he comforted her as she slept. He never was present enough in his daughter’s life due to his job, but for once he felt like a father. 

“Nick, I’ve known you since you were a child,” the smile in his voice was obvious. “And I’ve got to say, you’re very clueless, son.” 

“Yeah, I know I am. I don’t even understand what ‘love’ really is. How do you know if you’re even in love? Hell, I don’t even understand what Y/N meant by ‘you have no fucking idea then,’” the cannabis that had caused him trouble seemed to have started talking for Nick.

“You don’t know when you’re in love,” your father pauses, thinking. “It’s like that feeling that never seems to go away die down. It’s that feeling where you’re like ‘holy shit, I want this person in my life forever’ and you can’t understand why, but you’d drop everything for them.”

“I never felt like that with my ex-girlfriend. It was more of me trying to be cool and for my own pleasure,” Nick confesses, something he’d never do while sober.

Silence once again seeped through as a euphoric Nick organized his thoughts; your father swinging patiently, he’s been there before. 

“You know, son,” wanting to push Nick a little closer to self-realization, your father began. “She’s gonna forgive you again. Once I get home, she’s gonna bombard me with questions about you and possibly go scold you.”

“I wouldn’t wanna talk to myself considering what I did.”

“There’s a reason why you both seem to crawl back to each other.”

“Because we’re best friends?”

“You think it’s because of that?”

Pause. The serenity of the park lulled the doped body into a realm with scrambling logic.

“Sir.”

“Yeah?”

“I think,” hesitance radiated from his words. “I’ve been in love with your daughter for the past few years and was too selfish to recognize.”

“So ‘ya finally got it!”

“I can’t tell her that!”

“Why?”

“She probably hates me now.”

“Did you ignore what I said?”   
  


“I don’t know if I can face her. I’m afraid of what she’ll say.”

“You guys have all the time in the world. I know you’re a good person at heart, son, but it takes time to recover from your mistakes,” handing Nick a tissue, your father continues. “She’s stupidly in love with you. Take your time,” standing up, your father strides back to his car with a bewildered Nick following.

  
  
  
  


The ride home felt tranquil as Nick slept the euphoric feeling off. His parents, thankful your family had saved their son from another stupid mistake, had offered dinner that evening. Of course, your dad had agreed in hopes of helping the duo finally admit what they were running from. 

Nick had stayed inside his room all day-- he had to catch up on George’s stream (which ultimately helped him think about anything other than you). Little did he know, you were watching the stream. 

“Sapnap, the donations are asking what’s your type,” George giggles.

Dream (Clay), who was aware of Nick’s crush ever since he gushed about how nice you were to save him, lets out a kettle-like laugh, “Sapnap’s type is probably the ones that keep him in his place.”

A small smile tangles itself onto Nick’s face, “Yeah, the ones that’ll rescue me no matter-- George! Don’t fucking kill me!”   
  


The duo began their familiar bickering; you seemed to find enjoyment in hearing Nick’s sassy remarks that send George calling for Clay’s help. Being too focused on the stream sent you into a panic when you got a text from Clay.  _ Why was he texting you midstream? _

“Hey, Nick told me abt the fight.”

“Yeaaaa that sucked.”

“Y’all good?”   
  


“Idk, haven’t talked to him. Dinners with his family tonight tho. Going to a steakhouse.”

“You mad still?”

“Nah.”

“You still like him?”   
  


The familiar rapid beat of your heart and the warmth that enveloped your face was your answer, “Yeah, but he’s been so bitchy, and Idk what to do abt it.”

“Can you wait a few days? Trust me.”

“No promises green boy. Now get back. They’re calling for you.”

And so the action comes back in full play with Dream coming back to save George from Nick. This trio was something you’d never forget or miss-- hopefully things stay normal between you and Nick. 

  
  
  
  


Dinnertime soon arrived; both families seating themselves across from each other. You happened to be lucky enough to be seated directly across Nick. The night seemed to flash by since you both hadn’t spoken a word. It appeared to be a night for the adults to enjoy, and a weak attempt to get the duo to face their feelings. 

You had tried to spark a usual conversation as if nothing had happened, but Nick gave quick and dry answers which were impossible to build off of. After a while, you had given up and tried to ignore the hurt bubbling in your stomach. The buzzing soon came back, which was odd since the buzz never came when Nick was around. Your first reaction was to text Miranda, but alas, she had cut you off for “being a shitty friend” right after you relayed Nick’s rejection to her. 

The ache that bubbled diverged into anger.  _ Why was he still mad? Why does he get to continue these childish games when it was you who was hurt? It’s not fair. _

“Nick, don’t you have to drive Y/N to the movies tomorrow? You guys planned this a week ago right?” Nick’s mom’s memory was unmatched. 

Before you could flake out, Nick gave a nod of approval. This further irked you.  _ So he can take us to the movies but not talk to me?  _

The rest of dinner was (luckily) tranquil as you two continued minding your businesses on your phones. The ride home was silent too; your parents did notice the lack of communication between you two but decided not to press further since these were teenage love matters you guys had to resolve on your own. Arriving home, you slipped back into your room to lazily change and drift fast asleep. 

  
  
  
  


The day went on as usual (if usual meant not staying over at Nick’s). You tried to alleviate the buzzing that swarmed your brain by playing bedwars with your online friends. You weren’t a streamer yourself, but your friends were all streamers. Having a group of friends (both in real life and online) that were streamers had led you to become “known” enough to have earned a few thousand followers with your quick cameos. 

“Hecate what the fuck you bitch,” Maka, more known as CodeMach, had fallen into the void due to the fireball Hecate had thrown.   
  


“Don’t be mad you suck,” Hecate, also known as ARIstocate, rebutted.

The two streamers always had playful banter while live-- it made great content. The three of you met through Nick when he recorded a video with the duo, and you happened to chime in a few times. Needless to say, after the recording was finished, the two found your Twitter and the rest was history.

“No-- Hecate, please don’t kill me,” your pixelated character crouched on the edge as Hecate’s character slowly advanced. 

“Come on, Y/N. Why don’t you fight back?”

“Take them on, Y/N!” Maka blindly encouraged.

“Stupid bitch, you’re dead, and my bed’s broken! I can’t respawn!”

“Ok well… you’re about to lose anyway so just go for it!”

“I never agree with Maka, but just this once, I do. Go for it,” Hecate, in their natural monotone voice, chimed. 

Having no other choice, your character runs toward Hecate’s, only to fail with one hit off the ledge. The chat went wild with “dog water,” “L,” and “F,” comments that flooded the box. 

“Chat no! That was unfair you can’t clock me because of that!” You feuded with chat to save (what was left) of your dignity. 

“You can redeem yourself next round if you try hard enough and maybe team with Maka; who knows how much help she’ll be though,” Hecate summoned the party into another bedwars lobby. 

“What the fuck! Hecate you’re a bully. Eat my ass,” Maka’s questionable comebacks sparked Hecate’s competitive side.

“Guys, I just wanted to play bedwars-- please,” your begging was promptly overlooked.

Hearing your wheezed laugh soothed Nick’s ears. It felt like delicate breezes that outline the shell of his ear, pulling him into the arms serenity. He was too cowardly to face you-- face his feelings, but he coveted your cordial presence. Nick’s solution to his yearning was to watch Hecate’s stream while he edited his latest video that included Dream (Clay) and George. He immersed himself in guilt that came from his latent romanced feelings— something he’d never allow to be forgotten.

The distant duo who pined for each other routinely checked the clocks ticking in their room as the hours draw closer to their appointed  rendezvous. Hecate and Maka ended their streams two hours before the date; they wanted to “cheer you on” and “show him who’s boss.”

“Y/N has he even talked to you personally?” Hecate deadpanned.

“No, but I have faith in him,” doubt laced your words.

“Is no one going to address the picture Miranda posted? About Nick?” Maka interrupts.

“I’m for real going to clock that bitch,” Hecate’s monotone voice dripped with sadism.

“‘This is for my bestie, Nick, who had recently hit one million. Proud of you forever!’ Sickening, really,” Maka reads aloud.

Your stomach simmered with remorse-- Miranda had congratulated him before you. Opening Twitter, you met a handful of tweets with the generalized statement that Nick hasn’t spoken out about his milestone-- which further lowered your sense of pride. 

“Should I congratulate him?”

“No. Wait ‘till he apologizes.”

“You can congratulate him passive-aggressively on your date later!” Maka emphasized the words “passive-aggressively.”

“For the last time, it’s not a date. We’re literally mad at each other!” 

“Clay (Dream) says otherwise, and you know that is Nick’s best friend, second to you,” Hecate points out.

“Clay said what?” Confusion plagued your buzz. 

“Clay said something along the lines of, ‘Nick thinks its a date. He plans to do something at the end,’” Maka leans back in her chair, which made an echoed creek. 

The words beleaguered your brain as the bickering streamers began to muffle out. Guesses of the possible surprise gushed from your brain; confusion soon spiraled out of control, causing you to leave the call. Hecate seemed the most worried about your sudden departure having sent an estimated total of 56 messages. Despite being preoccupied with changing, you texted Hecate a reassuring text letting them know you were now in a rush. 

The clock struck seven; dusk wept into what was left of daylight. Hecate and Maka cluttered your phone with messages that begged for pictures of your “date-ready” outfit. At that point, you had no idea if they liked the idea of Nick “taking you out” or not; they seemed to be upset at him but their teasing spoke a different meaning. 

“Y/N, dear! Nick’s here!” your mother blithely calls (after all, she did ship you guys more than anyone).

Cutting your conversation with  _ The Ladies _ group chat short, you dashed (faster than you’d like to admit) to the front door where Nick stood. Eye contact was made as you absorbed his sculpted features again. His face looked as though a pair of humble hands smoothed cream-colored clay into something that could be considered an expression of a greek god-- the same cream that had soft crimson painted across to add life into it. Fawn-colored hair complemented the fair skin as it messily shapes his familiar outline. Nick’s willow eyes that could challenge a garden filled with whimsical emeralds-like life beamed an apology into yours. 

No words were exchanged, but you both knew everything was going to turn out alright. You entered the car that reeked of recent memories you both regretted, after bidding your mother goodbye. The ride was silent-- a comfortable silence. The familiar hand that fit your knee had returned, holding you closer than ever. Night fully blanketed the town as you arrived at the theater; Nick escorted you out of the car. Quickly entering the flashing building, you both waited in the line to buy snacks.

“What do you want? I’ll pay,” the first real words spoken to you since the fight.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to if you--”

“--I’m sure. It’s a ‘mini apology’ for what happened,” he cuts you short.

“I’ll just get--”

“--Nick! Is that you?” A recognized, pitched voice cried. 

“Miranda, what’re you doing here?” Nick seemed more bewildered than you.

He had no clue that your friendship ended partly because of him. You had a feeling she would come: you told her about this weeks in advance. 

“Just trying to watch the new movie! Oh, you’re here too Y/N,” sickly sweet voice dropping slightly when referring to you.

Nick seemed to catch onto the tension floating between Miranda and your finicky body. His first reaction was to assure your stability by lacing the slender fingers of his soft hand in your smaller ones. 

“You know, Nick, I could watch the movie with you. Y/N doesn’t like this genre; she’s only watching it so you won’t be lonely. Liars are bad you know, Y/N,” Miranda babbles. 

Something about her words that dripped malice burnt the last string holding you back.

“Well pardon me, Miranda, but I spent three years of my school life lying to myself because of how I was pushed aside constantly by you. Do you know how I felt? I felt like you were constantly above me-- you’re drop-dead gorgeous, bubbly, and everything I believed I wasn’t because you said so! You know how bad I felt listening to you gush about the guy I liked for almost 11 years?” The despair that built up the past years now washed over your brain, making you forget about Nick’s presence. “I never said anything about it because ‘feelings are feelings, they can’t be helped’ but what happened to me? I talked to you when no one else did but you dropped me when things didn’t go your way! What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re ruining my name to win someone who blatantly rejected you-- how selfish can you be?” Nick’s hand stiffened.

“Well can you blame me?” Miranda’s sickly sweet face now glowering. “I suffer terribly from BPD, it’s not my fault!”

“What the fuck? You’re blaming it on a serious diagnosis I’ve never heard you bring up ever before,” your head spun; the buzzing nipping everywhere it seems. 

“You’re disregarding my feelings? Isn’t that what you claimed I did to you? I cared for you by bothering to talk to you! Y/N you were a  **liability** . At least I take time to congratulate him. Who knows what you were doing!”

“ **Liability** ? Congratulate him? You know nothing, Miranda,” the word struck deep. 

Miranda knew you suffered from the fear of feeling like a burden to others. It was a word that was thrown at you throughout elementary and middle school-- Nick never knew since you were too afraid to speak up, but judging by your paled expression, he caught on. 

“Miranda, I rejected you for a reason,” Nick starts before Miranda could lash out again. “I’m sorry it had to be like that but the way you’re treating Y/N tells me enough. Have a good day,” dragging your trembling body out of the theater, he seats you in the car and drives off.

Passing cars that blurred into thin lines furnished the blanks of your mind-- adrenaline still coursing within your body was soothed by Nick’s fingers etching doodles on the skin of your thigh. Descending from the rushing highway, your head gently slumps on Nick’s shoulder. He didn’t seem to mind much as the wheel turned the vehicle away from the man-made road. After entering further into the empty fields, the car stopped. 

Gleaming stars danced across the black night as the two absorbed each other’s presence. Reaching into the back of his car, Nick pulls a plastic bag into the front. Laying the bag idly on his lap, he reveals several tubes which assorted in color. You knew it held joints. Head on his shoulder, you watched him fidget around in attempts of finding the lighter. 

“Can we go outside? I don’t wanna explain why my car smells like weed if I ever get pulled over,” his hand moved from your thigh to tangle itself in your hair. 

Humming a yes, you both exited the car-- icy chill from the night struck your body. Opening the trunk of his car, Nick pulls out two blankets. Spreading a beige-colored one across darkened grass, he motioned for you to come sit next to him. He threw the pink-colored one over your bodies, forcing you to cuddle closer. Head finding its way back on Nick’s shoulder, you watch his hands light the joint, taking it up to his mouth to inhale. He shifted the joint between his pointer and middle finger; it left his other hand free to play and entangle in your delicate hair again. 

“Was what you said true?” Nick questions, exhaling musty smoke.

“If you’re asking about the, ‘liking you for 11 years’ part, reject me nicely,” burying your warmed face in his neck as Nick continues to split strands of hair while running his fingers through. 

Silence enclosed the scene. Staring off into the stars, waiting for your awaiting rejection. You knew it would sting, but you prayed to a god it wouldn’t ruin the bond you guys held. Hands continuing their divisions in your hair, Nick took another hit-- exhaling the smoke after seconds. The aura was a stressful-type of calm; the situation paralleled your older trips, minus the awaiting denial of your feelings.

“Wanna shotgun?”

You knew what shotgunning was-- you had witnessed it a few times at Miranda’s parties. You’d never actually done it since you haven’t experienced your first kiss yet. However, you had smoked before; the idea of it wasn’t new. You were best friends with Nick (and formerly Miranda)-- they both were avid smokers. 

“Sure,” slightly shifting yourself so you faced Nick. 

Taking in a quick hit, Nick turned to face you. His dazed face inched closer to your similarly heated one. Using the fingers that were once in your hair, he tilts your chin up for better access as his slightly chapped lips pressed onto yours. Opening your mouth, allowing him to exhale the smoke into yours, felt euphoric. He inched away from your rosy lips, allowing time for you to hold in the air. Willow eyes you admired hours ago were now dilated and stunned as he watched you hold the smoke into your lungs before exhaling it back into the crisp night air. 

“Holy shit, that was hot,” his voice was breathy as his eyes stalled. 

Staring up at him, you feel your muscles melt and relax. The rejection had escaped your mind as you attempted to process what had just happened. 

“Does that answer your question?”

Your mind blanked for a second, “Huh?”   
  


He laughed filled the air, “I’m so shit with words so I tried to tell you through actions, but that failed. Give me a second to think.” 

He hands you a joint and the lighter while he ponders his words. You sat in confusion, lighting your personal blunt. The glowing red butt wasn’t a far color-match for your heated face. 

“I guess I could say I like you back, but that’d be too boring for us.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, us. You know, the duo that seems to always be fighting because the dumbass guy keeps being a stupid shit, but the girl still likes him anyways even though she should move on?” He laughs, smoke exiting his body. “I was such a huge dick to you, but you stayed and it took me so long to realize that, I’m afraid. I was just too scared to admit that I was so madly in love with you that it almost ruined us.”

“Madly in love with me? Nick, you’re beyond gone--”

“--Just let me finish, okay?” He cuts in. “Your father said something along the lines of ‘why do you think you guys keep crawling back to each other?’ and I was so stupid that it took me forever to realize. I was so blinded by my selfish protection methods that I didn’t even realize how much I loved those tiny moments where you scolded me for doing dumb shit as you held my drunk face in your trembling hands. You know how guilty I felt each time seeing the pain in your eyes?”

“Yeah, you were really an ass,” taking a hit of the joint, you watched his eyes glow a different type of passion talking about you. 

“And like-- I’ve been thinking about you much that I convinced myself that,” he pauses, looking for words. “You’re the person I wanna wake up to every day and take care of you like how you did with me, you know?” Shifting his body to face you again, eyes boring down onto yours, he spoke loud and clear. “I think, I’m so fucking in love with you that I was too afraid to admit it to myself. Can I have a chance?”

Nick was never good at expressing his feelings, but his words now melted you. It was a different type of familiarity-- the one you couldn’t understand how you knew, but deep down it was obvious your mind replayed the years you have spent with him.

“You can have a chance.”

Your blunts now laid lifeless on the blanket as your lips met once again-- this time, the intention was passionate rather than needy. Your hands advancing up to wrap around his neck as his hands ran themselves through your hair, craving more intimacy. The kiss lasted long enough for you to pull apart in need of air. Lips bruised, body brimming with hormones, contrasted your brains that seemed to grip onto common sense. Doing it in the grass while high would be unromantic. 

“Not tonight, Nick,” you wheezed, head landing in his lap. Your body relaxed onto the blanket as you laid.

“Y’know, I was gonna confess at the movies, but my plans got ruined,” he rubbed your temples. “You’re not a liability y’know? If anything, I’m the liability. Don’t take anything Miranda said too personally; she speaks from jealousy. Also, don’t worry too much about not congratulating me-- you can pay me back later, if ‘ya catch my drift.”

You merely hummed in response, too tired to give a witty comeback. Besides, his voice lulled you to the sleep realm. Falling asleep in Nick’s lap as his hands drew circles on your temples to pull you closer to a relaxed state. You couldn’t wait to tell Hecate and Maka about this one tomorrow. 

The last words you could process before slumber filled your body were, “I love you-- I’m not afraid anymore.” 


End file.
